


The Stripper

by kasaundra1



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - 20th-21st c., Post-Biblical Jewish RPF
Genre: Authority Figures, Gay, Gay Strip Clubs, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasaundra1/pseuds/kasaundra1
Summary: A AU where Saddam Hussein meets Benjamin "Bibi" Netanyahu, who is working as a gay stripper to pay off his tuition at MIT.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, and even thought the characters are real people, and I don't mean to offend people. I understand that I am going to hell for writing this and all the politicians that I have defiled.

It was near six o'clock in the evening, and the Boston nightlife was about to begin. For some people, it meant the time to get ready for dinner, for others, they were commuting from work to home. But for world leaders, it meant time for the high stake meetings to end. At the end of such meetings, one must go back to their hotel and decompress, and unwind. That is, until the next day brought new challenges and new rivals. For Saddam Hussein, it meant spending time in his hotel room, and trying to relax. Saddam usually didn’t go out that much, and if he did, he was most likely to be heckled and jeered. He truly wanted privacy to indulge his desires,. But being a world leader doesn’t come with those perks. Saddam had just finished making a speech at the UN and he wanted to go to a hotel that was far away from the bustle of New York. To everyone, Saddam Hussein seemed like a typical dictator. He hated America, brutally oppressed his people, and indulged on much luxury while his people lived in squalor. But even Saddam Hussein had his secrets. One of them, was bigger than any other of his secrets. One that could get him killed, or even overthrown.  
It was a secret that Saddam Hussein was attracted more to men, than women. A secret that could cost one dearly in the Middle East.   
After a hard day’s work, Saddam then showered, ordered some room service and smoked a cigar. He wanted to let loose for once, and have a little fun. Some devious, sexual fun. He could easily call in and have someone take him down to a club, but many would recognize him. That was be disastrous. But Saddam Hussein wasn’t a man to hide in the shadows, he was a man to be heard and watched. Screw this, Saddam thought as he lowered himself down into the chair. “I’m going out,” He said. He then dialed his Chauffeur and prepared himself to go out. He then carefully selected a nice collared shirt with some black pants. After that, he then grabbed his wallet and went out.   
When Saddam got into the car, his chauffeur asked him where he wanted to go. Damn it, Saddam thought. I should’ve looked something up. Saddam then got onto his phone and dialed in for potential bars. He wanted to go somewhere where there was beautiful people in attendance. In honesty, Saddam wanted to go to a place where he could pick up a man. He then found a bar, nicely tucked in between the Bristo and cafe shops. He looked it up further and saw that it was a gay bar. “Bingo,” Saddam muttered under his breath. He then motioned to his chauffeur. “Take me to Criabi club, 1697 South Avenue.” Saddam ordered. HIs chauffeur didn’t even bother to question what it was at. He then sped off towards the South, the nightlife passing by as they went. There was everything from clubs to cafes, and to where women sat on the lots in fishnet tops. Saddam didn’t even bother to look into whether it was the seedy area of town, but he didn’t care. Soon, the cadillac pulled up to the parking lot of the club. Saddam then unbuckled and put on a pair of sunglasses. “Check the premises, make sure they are clear of all reporters.” He ordered his bodyguards. He then went from the car to the entrance of the bar. The bouncers were huge people, big enough to put some of the toughest soldier in the Iraqi army to shame. They each waved people in, rejecting ones who didn’t fit the standard. Saddam was worried for a bit that one of them would recognize him, but he kept his eyes behind his sunglasses and hoped for the best. When the bouncers reached him, they looked him over. The biggest one looked to be made of solid muscle and he towered over Saddam. “You sir? ID?” He asked. Saddam was worried so he fished out a fake ID. The guard looked it over, carefully examining it. It was to Saddam’s relief that he was cleared. He stepped into the club and much of the things in there were foreign to him. In Iraq, being gay is not only taboo, but it could cost one their reputations and their life. Saddam felt like a fish out of water, all the things that were in the club seemed so surreal. But he pushed those feelings to the back of his head; went to the bar, and ordered a drink. The bartender was nice, and she was able to give Saddam his drink in no time. There was a dance floor, and two runways with lots of poles. Saddam didn’t know what they were for and it puzzled him. Then it struck him like a lightning bolt. This was a strip bar. Saddam cursed himself for not realizing this, but at the same time, he was excited. There were hardly any strip bars like this at home, and so Saddam decided that he would enjoy something forbidden once in awhile. He then looked over and sat down in one of the chairs facing the the last bar on the runway. Another guy looked over and nudged him.  
“Ya here for the strippers my friend?” He asked.   
“Um, I’m just wanting to see what is up. I’m probably not going to ask for any lap dances or anything.” Saddam Hussein said curtly.  
“Well, it’s your loss, because there’s this one stripper. He’s hot as a jalapeno sauce. I might just ask him if he would give me a lap dance. Trust me, he’s hot as fuck.” The man said.  
“I think I have seen better in my home country.” Saddam said.  
“Well, which country are you from my friend?” The man asked, while chugging down his beer.  
“I’m from Jordan,” Saddam said though his teeth. He didn’t want to give away his true home country because it he did, his cover would be blown.  
“Eh, there’s not a whole lot a Gay bars there I don’t think. There’s more here my friend.” The man said smiling.  
Then the lights went dark and there were blue and purple spotlights highlighting the stage.  
“I think it’s starting.” Saddam said nudging his acquaintance. The other man turned around.  
“I hope that cute guy shows up,” He said. “I haven’t been able to go to here for about a month, so I have to catch up.” The man said while sipping his drink.  
“Okay,” Saddam turned around.  
Saddam looked on as one by one, the strippers made their way up the runway and onto the pole. They each fanned out to the audience wowing people as they went.   
It was when that one stripper came out.   
He was athletic in build, with dark brown hair and eyes the color of melted chocolate. He was leanly muscled and he had a square jaw and strutted confidently. Saddam’s eyes widened at the majesty of this young man. He could tell that the stripper got a lot of cheers by all the applause and whoops of the crowd in the club.   
The young man circled around and descended and then circled around the pole. Apparently, the young man had some experience and he fumbled a bit. He twirled around the pole, and deftly made use of it. He swung his hips back and forth and he clung to the pole for dear life. He grabbed hold of it and climbed his way to the top, sexily curling his legs around the pole. He then slid down slowly circling around it while at it. He could tell that he was doing it right by the applause around the room.  
After that, the mysterious man descended down the stairs of the runway along with the other strippers and interacted with the crowd. Saddam looked over and saw that the man he was talking to was waving that that young stripper, asking him to give him a lap dance. The young stripper hurried over and stood in front of him.  
“What would you like Mr. Duda?” He asked. His voice was smoky and dead sexy.  
“Oh I would like a lap dance.” Mr. Duda asked. Saddam snickered as the irony of the name (Duda meant “Booby” in Polish).  
“Okay, twenty bucks.” The stripper said.  
Saddam watched with envy as Duda fished twenty dollars out of his wallet and stuck it in the stripper’s thong.  
He watched as the stripper agailly moved down and sat down on Duda’s lap. He lightly brushed his hands in between Duda’s legs as he provocatively swayed his hips and moved his body to the rhythm. He then moved his body provocatively and positioned himself to where his crotch was in Duda’s face. Duda just sat there dumbfounded and Saddam could sense the arousal in his eyes. To Saddam, he was already getting hard from watching the stripper perform the lapdance, despite the fact that it was on another person. He looked just fine and very sexy while doing it.   
“Ah, Bibi, god, you are so good,” Duda murmured as the young stripper positioned himself provocatively in his arms. Saddam bit his lip, and he pondered. “Bibi, eh,” he muttered under his breath. Saddam was lusting after this young man, but he pushed all these thoughts out of his head. Saddam, he is a stripper, there’s no way he’d be into you! Saddam thought to himself. Saddam watched as Bibi then made his way back to the stage and then started pole dancing. He was quite agile, yet there were still signs that he was just learning. He missed a few beats and he stumbled a bit, but his looks and charisma made up for it. Saddam then motioned to Duda, who was now half drunk and asked him.  
“Where is that guy from?” He asked. Duda looked over as Saddam. “I think he goes to school somewhere around here. He is damn gorgeous I’ll tell you that.” He said as he downed another Sex on the Beach. Saddam hadn’t even touched his Long Island Iced Tea. Probably because he wanted to stay sober and didn’t want some paparazzi to catch him in a compromising position. Saddam couldn’t help but gaze at the young stripper, taking in the sight of beauty.

 

Saddam’s throat then tightened. He wanted so badly to ask this man for the lapdance. He was nervous, and he started breaking out in a sweat. He then looked on as the young man then got up from Duda’s lap. He then walked off and went back down to the pole. He then lifted himself up onto the pole, and he twirled as he slid down the pole. He then got onto the floor, and slid down like a snake. He started pulling down the shorts that he was wearing, and soon, everyone could see part of his crotch. Saddam looked over and felt an odd boner coming onto him. The young man then slid down and positioned himself provocatively onto the pole. He looked at Saddam with seductive eyes. The young man’s legs were like vines, sturdy, yet slender and flexible at the same time. When the young man walked down. Duda leaned over and whispered in Saddam’s ear. “You want me to pay him to give you a lapdance?” He asked.  
“Um...yes.” Saddam finally squeaked.   
“Good,” Dude the looked over and whistled. “Hey Bibi, over here!” The young man walked over. “What can I get you, Mr. Duda?” He asked. His voice was smoky, and dead sexy. It immediately turned Saddam on. “Um, can you give a lapdance for my friend over here.” He said. Duda then placed a twenty dollar bill in the man’s shorts.   
“Done.” The young man circled around to Saddam and plopped onto his legs. He then intertwined his legs with Saddam, and lightly brushed his fingers in between Saddam’s legs. Saddam bit back a gasp as the man moved down to his crotch. He couldn’t help but take in the man’s features. The chiseled chest, the curled lip, the square jaw, the curly hair, the olive colored skin. Saddam was brought out of the daydream when the young man was rubbing his hand on his groin directly. Saddam’s boner made a budge in his pants. Sooner before you know it, it was over and the man then extracted himself from Saddam.

 

Soon, the club was closed for the evening, and it was time for all the people to go home.  
Saddam craned his neck to check him out as the bar closed down for the night. He was very broad-shouldered and had wavy, curly hair. His eyes were the color of melted chocolate, and he he had a curled lip that made him look like he was pouting. “Com’n Saddam, don’t be an idiot,” He thought to himself. He then ran down to the man, who was just getting his keys and unlocking his car. “Hello,” Saddam breathed out.  
The young man turned around to see Saddam staring back at him.  
“Hello…” The young man said shyly.   
“What’s your name. I mean, your real name, not your stage name.” Saddam asked.  
“Oh, my actual name is Benjamin. I have been called Bibi ever since I was little.” The young man said with a smile.  
“So, Benjamin-”Saddam stuttered. “Do want to come down to my hotel? I am only in town for like three more days, and I’d like to get to know you better.”   
Bibi took this quietly into consideration. “I have classes tomorrow so I can’t tonight, but I think that it would be a pleasure to get to know you better.” Benjamin then fished out at business card and handed it to Saddam. “I have to go, but maybe tomorrow, ok?” He then quickly hurried off.

 

Saddam studied the card all the drive down to his hotel. It was inscribed with a lovely font, and it had Benjamin’s contact information. He looked at it carefully and read it out loud.

 

Benjamin Netanyahu  
Architecture and Management Student, Massachusetts Institute of Technology  
6884 Togerson Avenue, Apartment 1B.  
(617)- 576-8801

 

Saddam then looked at it again, and placed it in his pocket. He then went back to his car and all the way back to the hotel, he pondered about the young man he had just met.


End file.
